


And down we went.

by Prehensilizing



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: All kinds of messed up, Angst, DipFord - Freeform, ForDip, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Sex, Sharing a Bed, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Underage Kissing, Underage Sex, You've been warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-03-17 05:07:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13652049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prehensilizing/pseuds/Prehensilizing
Summary: Dipper and Mabel come to live at the Mystery Shack full-time after their parents' deaths.Dipper has a crush on Ford.And Ford? He's a sinner.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is going to contain all sorts of nonsense and implied nonsense, up to and including sexual relations between Dipper and Fordsy. You've been warned. 
> 
> (Seriously.)

* * *

 

 

            "Five more minutes."

            "You have to get up, Dipper."

            "What's there to get up _for?_ " the boy grumbled into his pillow.

            Stanford sighed. He sat on the edge of his nephew's bed, bulky muscle making the springs creak. He hesitated, hovering his hand briefly over Dipper's back before withdrawing.

            "Well," Ford began in his best teacher voice. "There's me. There's Stanley. And there's your sister."

            He reflexively stuffed his hand - the one he'd been about to place on Dipper's back - under his own leg. The pose was awkward, and a little feminine.

            "Great Uncle Ford, I don't _want_ to go downstairs. Everyone's gonna be all... sad."

            "Yes," Ford agreed. "Yes, they will be sad. Are _you_ sad?"

            "Well... yeah. A little."

            "But?"

            Dipper squirmed under the sheet. Ford always knew when something was on his mind. He sat up, rubbing at his eyelids.

            "Can I tell you something?"

            "You can tell me anything, my boy."

            "I actually feel kind of... happy," he confessed. "I'm happy to be back in Gravity Falls." He looked down at the sheet. "I'm happy to see you."

            "And I'm happy to see you, Dipper."

            The teen's fingers kneaded the linen. A small, troubled smile raced fleetingly across his lips. He blushed.

            "Do you feel guilty for feeling happy?" Ford asked clinically.

            "I feel like my life should be ruined or something. I mean, I love my parents, but I didn't see them the whole summer. And when I went home in the fall, it felt like they barely knew me anymore."

            "You grew up." Ford nodded.

            Dipper swallowed.

            "But did I? I still feel like a kid."

            Ford pulled his hand from where it was buried under his leg, cupping his fingers around Dipper's shoulder. Dipper leaned into the touch.

            "Growing up doesn't happen all at once," Ford said, giving his arm a squeeze. "It happens over many, many years."

            "Do things hurt less as you get older?" Dipper asked earnestly.

            Ford studied his nephew's face. So new, so full of light. So full of questions. He recognized that part of Dipper, and missed it in himself. He only hoped he could give the right answers.

            "Sometimes, yes. Losing a loved one is hard," Ford said, and meant it. He cleared his throat. "But you do heal. The brain is a powerful tool for that, you know."

            Dipper hummed a short note.

            "I still don't want to go downstairs," he admitted.

            "I understand." Ford nodded. "It will probably be a long time before we regain normalcy."

            "Ugh. I just want to enjoy being here. With you."

            There was that blush again. Ford frowned. He could guess what it meant, even if Dipper wasn't fully conscious of it. He withdrew his hand.

            "Your brain is going to feel things, whether you want it to or not," Ford replied cautiously. "How you react to those feelings is your choice."

            Dipper sighed, rubbing his arm where Ford had touched him. He stretched.

            "I guess you're right."

            "Come on. Let's grab some breakfast, shall we?"

 

* * *

 

            "Can I come in?" Ford asked, tapping gently at the door with his knuckles.

            "Yeah," Dipper sighed. "I guess."

            His great uncle's shadow fell toward the window instead of away, and the first stars of the evening were just emerging over the treeline. Night birds twittered unselfconsciously. Ford crossed the room in two strides and joined his nephew on the bed.

            "Gravity Falls is so quiet," Dipper observed, propping himself up against the wall.

            "That it is," Ford agreed. "Care to chat?"

            "Sure." Something occurred to him. "Great Uncle Ford?"

            "Yes, Dipper?"

            "I still don't... feel anything. About my parents."

            Ford nodded.

            "You might not feel pain for a while, my boy." He crossed his ankles, stretching his long legs along the floor. "I didn't when my parents died."

            "Wait, when did your parents die?" Dipper asked, suddenly looking at Ford - really looking at him - for the first time since he had returned to Gravity Falls. "Oh. Of course they're dead. You're so, uh-" 

            "Old?" Ford finished for him, a tiny, amused smile turning up the corners of his eyes.

            Dipper groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose between two stiff fingers. He pulled his knees close to his chest, face growing redder.

            "God, that was so rude of me, I'm sorry-"

            "Don't be sorry. I'm not offended."

            "You're not?"

            "No." Ford watched the last remnants of the sunset through the triangular window. Starlight reflected from the lenses of his glasses. "My mother died the year before I began my work in Gravity Falls. I wasn't here when my father died."

            "And Grunkle Stan?"

            "Stanley's always been more... in touch with his emotions."

            "Like Mabel." Dipper nodded. His sister was downstairs, crying herself to sleep in her Grunkle's arms. She needed more human contact than he did - she'd been doing a lot of crying since their parents died.

            "Do you think I'll ever feel like that? As sad as she does?" Dipper asked. "Right now I don't feel anything at all. It feels like... I don't know, like I'm going to throw up, only all the time. Like my body just wants to explode. But I don't _feel_ it. You know?" he asked helplessly, searching futilely for the metaphor that would make his uncle understand.

            Ford scratched the back of his neck.

            "Yes, Dipper," he sighed. "I think you might feel that way someday."

            Dipper whimpered involuntarily. He shuffled an inch closer to Ford.

            "I'm scared," he whispered. "I don't want to hurt like that."

            "Don't be scared of the unknown," Ford murmured, his own face heating slightly at the close proximity. He had gone without human contact for three whole decades. How was he supposed to explain what trauma meant to this young thing? "It's an opportunity to learn something about yourself."

            "Great Uncle Ford... could I..." Dipper fidgeted.

            "Could you what?"

            "Could I sleep with you tonight?"

            There it was. The teen's face went violently red. He grabbed a fistful of sheets to occupy his hands.

            "Dipper," Stanford sighed.

            "To make sure it's not just me. M-maybe if I sleep with someone - like Mabel and Grunkle Stan - it would help me feel normal? Right?"

            Ford steepled his fingers. He considered.

            "Mabel will be downstairs all night," Dipper added. "We'd have the room to ourselves."

            Ford clearly heard the enthusiasm seeping into his nephew's voice. Is this what it would take to convince him that a crush on his geriatric uncle was a bad idea? He sighed again.

            "You really think it would help?"

            "One way to find out?" Dipper looked up at him, eyes hopeful.

            "Okay."

            "Okay?" Dipper confirmed in disbelief. He hadn't thought it would work.

            "Okay," Ford repeated. "But I'm going downstairs to change first."

            "Okay! Uh, I mean... cool," Dipper said, trying for suave and landing short of the mark. "I'll be here."

            "I know," Ford said.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

            "You _do_ have to go to sleep if we're going to do this," Ford said.

            "I'm trying," Dipper argued.

            "No, you aren't. You're talking."

            Dipper hated it when Ford made a point he couldn't debate.

            "Fine," Dipper relented. He tried to inject a slow rhythm into his breathing. If he did it right, Ford wouldn't be able to tell whether he was awake or asleep.

            "Good night, Dipper."

            "Good night, Great Uncle Ford."

            Ford lay with his back to his nephew, their bodies touching at the tailbone. Ford's legs were too long for Dipper's twin bed, and they hooked at the knee. Toes brushed the edge of the mattress through cotton socks. Had he ever been small enough to fit a twin? He couldn't remember. He must have been, once.

            What was he doing? Silently, he cursed himself for even considering agreeing to this. Dipper was stiff as ever against the small of his back, and Ford was certain neither of them was going to get sleep whatsoever at this rate. The moon was well over the trees now, its light projecting an isosceles ray through the window that washed all color from Ford's skin in a silver bath.

            Dipper breathed conspicuously through his nose. His back was rigid against Ford's spine.

            This was ridiculous.

            "Dipper," Ford sighed after some time.

            Dipper tensed further. _Asleep_ , he willed his body. _Asleep asleep asleep_.

            "I know you're awake," Ford continued, dissolving the weak charade. He rolled onto his back, turning his head to face him.

            "Yes, Great Uncle Ford?" Dipper conceded.

            "Be honest with me."

            "Um... okay."

            "Are you actually gaining anything from this?"

            "Well..."

            Cut to the chase, Pines.

            "Why did you really ask me to stay the night with you, Dipper?" He knew the answer. There was no getting out of this one. But, he had to let the boy explain for himself. It wouldn't do to jump to conclusions. Especially wrong ones.

            "Ah... heh, well, you see-"

            "Come on, Dipper."

            Dipper took a moment to steel himself. He turned to lay on his other side to face his uncle. He squeezed his eyes shut for a long second before opening them again, meeting Ford's scrutinizing gaze.

            "Great Uncle Ford?"

            "Yes, my boy."

            "I... uh..." Dipper swallowed whatever he'd been about to say.

            "What is it?"

            Dipper weighed his options. Maybe this was something that couldn't be said with words; he had to modify his language. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and leaned forward. His entire upper body followed. Ford saw it the instant before it happened - he couldn't stop it; only react to it.

            The boy kissed him chastely, dry and determined. Ford breathed into the kiss before yanking back, frazzled.

            "Ah, I see," he said with a cough.

            Of course he would respond to a kiss, a proclamation of raw emotion, with something so clinical, so coldly highbrow as ' _ah, I see.'_ Nice one, Stanford, he thought to himself with a grimace. Real sophisticated. His tongue flicked across chapped lips.

            "Great Uncle Ford?" Dipper asked, panicked at his uncle's curdled expression. "Oh, no. Oh, no no, I messed up." The boy rolled over again so his back was to the older man. He curled into a ball, gripping his hair. "I didn't mean to," he mumbled into the pillow.

            Ford frowned, propping himself on an elbow. At least it hadn't been entirely unexpected. 

            "Dipper," he said.

            "You can leave if you want."

            "Dipper," Ford tried again. He briefly probed his bottom lip with the tip of a finger, where the boy had kissed him.

            "It's okay if you hate me," Dipper groaned. His voice was higher than usual, pitched at a frequency suggesting it wasn't okay at all.

            "Hey. None of that." Ford splayed his hand across the teen's back. His digits spanned the entire width of Dipper's shoulder blades. Ford marveled at how small he was. How warm. He smoothed his thumb gently across the fabric of the red t-shirt, contouring the muscles just beginning to form underneath. "Breathe. Focus."

            "Why am I acting like this?" Dipper moaned plaintively, surprising himself by not knowing the answer. His voice broke on every long vowel. He yanked violently at his own hair. Ford slid his hand up the back of the boy's neck, gently untangling small fingers from short curls. "What's wrong with me?"

            "I thought so," Ford murmured to himself, smoothing a hand over the top of Dipper's head. "It's okay, my boy."

            "No, I, I took advantage of you."

            "You merely want the kind of physical affection Stanley shows to Mabel," Ford postulated, reasonably. "You believe you're not sad enough, or upset enough, so you aren't deserving of it. You try to gain affection through... other means. Your parents' deaths only served to amplify the effects of this-"

            Dipper let out a sob, a real one.

            "Dipper?" Ford sounded worried.

            "It's not that," the boy cried.

            "Then what is it?" Ford asked gently.

            "Great Uncle Stanford, I think I _like_ you."

            Ford sighed. Here we go, he thought.

            "Dipper."

            "I'm sorry, I just- I just do. Okay? I have for a long time." He buried his face in the linen. "Ever since my birthday."

            "Dipper, sit up." Ford crossed his legs against the wall. Reluctant to disobey, his nephew joined him. Cool white plaster pressed against their backs. Ford caught himself hoping that it was soundproof. Dipper sniffed, dragging a forearm across his face. The soft nest of blankets fell uncomfortably far away, exposing the bare flesh of their arms. Out of habit, Ford crossed his in front of himself, covering the worst scars.

            "I want you to listen to me," said Ford. "Are you listening?"

            Dipper nodded, face ashen.

            "I am sixty-five years old."

            "So? You're still super smart! And-"

            "You're not listening."

            "Sorry." Dipper made a small noise. He bit down on one finger.

            "Apart from being sixty-five, I am your uncle. Do you understand what that would make a relationship between us?"

            "Incest," Dipper said in the apologetic tone reserved for things he didn't really want to apologize for, like taking the largest slice of cake, or staying out a little too late on his bike. His shoulders slumped. He'd been caught.

            "It would be incest," Ford agreed. His eyes were pained. "And you're _thirteen_ , Dipper. You're... wildly underage. I couldn't do that to you."

            "Uh... Great Uncle Ford?"

            "Not to mention that you've displayed mainly heterosexual tendencies up until now-"

            "Great Uncle Ford?"

            "-and if we _were_ to explore such a relationship, I'd inevitably die decades before you-"

            "Ford!"

            "-and it just wouldn't be fair to _you_. I'm not good enough for you."

            Ford was breathing hard. He reached up to adjust his glasses, like he did after any long explanation. The lenses stared up at him from the bedside table, and his finger pressed against the bridge of his nose. His face felt hot.

            "Stanford," Dipper whispered, tasting the name on his tongue. He smiled despite himself. Ford shivered.

            "I'm sorry," Ford said.

            "It sounds like you're trying to talk yourself out of it."

            "Dipper-"

            "I thought of all those things already. And a lot of others too. But... I still want to be with you. I think you're..." he bit back the rest of the sentence, ashamed. He turned away. 

            "You think I'm what?"

            "Nevermind. It's stupid."

            "Dipper." He squared his shoulders. He _would_ get an answer. "You think I'm what?" 

            "My soul mate. I think you're my soul mate, okay?"

            Ford didn't say anything for a long time. He'd go to hell if he allowed himself to descend even a millimeter further. He should get up. He should walk out of this bedroom right now. He should never have entered in the first place. Let Dipper grieve on his own. Watch the boy come of age from a safe distance, and quash the disgustingly warm feeling in his chest. 

            "Mason," he whispered, finally. He'd been to hell once before. It wasn't so bad. Dipper's real name tasted like a promise on his tongue.

            Dipper shivered.

            "You... you feel it too. Don't you?"

            "May I take your hand?" Ford asked, staring at the ceiling.

            "God- yes- of course. Yes." Dipper awkwardly sat up on his knees. He placed his curled fingers into Ford's palm. The skin was rough, riddled with callouses and imperceptibly small scars. Six warm fingers closed around his fist.

            When he spoke again, Ford's voice was rough and deep.

            "I lived without human contact for thirty years. Half my life. I'm... unused to such advances. I can only conclude that my mind and body, yearning for a familiar touch just like you, are susceptible to temptation that would be easy for someone stronger to overcome-"

            "Stanford," Dipper interrupted him.

            "Listen to me-"

            "Nobody is stronger than you."

            "Patently untrue."

            "Stanford, can I- will you stop listening to the sound of your own voice for a second and let me tell you what _I_ see, okay?"

            Ford sighed. Humor him.

            "What do you see?"

            Dipper placed his free hand on Ford's chest, tracing his collarbone under the soft turtleneck.

            "I see the smartest, kindest, most beautiful," here he blushed, "man I know. I know you're gonna say this sounds like 'hero worship.' And maybe it is. I also know you're gonna say I'm thirteen and my brain isn't fully formed yet. Or that I'm doing this out of grief. And you're going to follow it up with a lecture on why I need to go out and meet more kids my age. Trust me, I know."

            Ford's lips were parted as his brain worked double-time.

            "Trust me," Dipper continued. "This sounds insane, but I've really thought this through. I made a comprehensive list of reasons why I think we're, ehem, meant for each other. In the desk drawer. It's... what I do." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

            Ford was dumbfounded for a long moment. The corners of his mouth cracked upward into the tiniest of grins. He tried to hide behind his free hand. A chuckle escaped. Then a fully-grown and fertilized laugh. Dipper always knew how to surprise him.

            "Oh, Dipper," he said, padding the corner of his eye with the heel of his hand as he laughed and laughed. "Oh, Mason. My boy."

            "What?" Dipper asked, genuinely confused. "What did I say?"

            "Everything," Ford chuckled.

            "Ford-"

            "My boy," Ford repeated more soberly, squeezing Dipper's hand. "That was very brave of you to say. I apologize for laughing."

            "What was so funny about it?"

            "Ah... that's a little harder to explain," Ford said, wishing for his glasses so he'd have something to do with his hands.

            "Try anyway?"

            "Well, you see, I have twelve doctorate degrees. I've traveled in entire other dimensions. By all means I am a grown, independent man. Yet somehow a thirteen year old boy just casually brushed aside my entire moral position in a single paragraph."

            "Is that... bad?"

            Ford sucked in a deep breath.

            "Please forgive me for this."

            Dipper's lips were as warm as he remembered. The boy let out a surprised squeak when his uncle kissed him, followed by a mad scramble to place his hands on Ford's back, Ford's neck, Ford's hair - any part of Ford with which he could make contact.

            Stanford Pines' soul plummeted out of reach, a rogue elevator carriage screeching along its cables until they snapped.

            He found he didn't mind much.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

 

 

_He understands me._

 

            That was the final line, circled once and underlined twice in shaky handwriting. What a list, Ford thought, to end with _that._

            Ford exhaled through his nose, eyes closing for a long second. _Do I?_ he thought. He could feel Dipper’s attention on him, unwavering even from a distance, separated by entire rooms. But it made sense. Ford, too, was _aware_ of Dipper, certain of the boy’s every move. It didn’t feel like telepathy – he would know – but there was a certain pinpoint precision in his imagining the boy’s movement. Now he was disrobing, carefully folding his clothes before placing them on the bathroom counter. Now he was in the shower, warm water pooling at the tips of his hair, scrubbing a little harder than usual so that Stan and Mabel would never know of their tryst. They would never smell Ford on his skin.  

            Ford sighed. Stan.

            His own hair was damp, his skin cool. The memory of Dipper’s scent continued to permeate the air around him, even down here, in his basement laboratory. Dipper had only been home for a day or two. His scent had not had time to settle. Ford knew he was merely projecting. Still, that scent. Surely Stanley would know.

            The list was in pen, on nondescript stationery. A purely utilitarian list. That made Ford smile – this wasn’t some love letter. This was a scientist’s list. A shopping list. Sure, the words written on it were fueled by emotion, but the intent? This list was written to prove a point.

            “ _I made a comprehensive list of reasons why I think we're, ehem, meant for each other.”_ The words echoed, again and again, caught on the needle in Ford’s mind. _Meant for each other meant for each other meant for_ -

 

_He saved my life._

 

            Ford read the list from the bottom up. If you knew how the story ended, then learning how it began wasn’t such a hassle. No need for exposition.

            He clearly remembered pushing Dipper out of the droid’s path, his last moments of consciousness before very nearly dying. Blacking out. He remembered waking up in pain. But then, he remembered waking up in pain on other days, in other dimensions. This was different. He’d die for Dipper any day. Then he checked himself – _would_ he die for Dipper?

            Of course he would. Only confirmation there. He felt guilty that the question had even occurred to him. The corner of Ford’s mouth twitched, and the paper crinkled as his grip tightened by a fraction.

            _Soul mates._ He shook his head.

 

_I saved his life._

 

            Of course.

            Ford thought about that for a second. A thirteen-year-old (then a twelve-year-old) had saved his life.

            You don’t get through thirty years of portal life, fighting for survival, by relying on the kindness of others. Ford had only been back in his home dimension for a few weeks back then, during the Weirdmageddon days, and already the reality of being surrounded by family had made him weak. Ford was weak. He was weak then, and he was weak now. Dipper’s lips were warm, and their kiss was easy. He wanted very, very badly to be weak.

            He didn’t deserve Dipper.

 

_He’s a nerd._

 

            That one made him smile. It wasn’t a taunt, coming from the boy. Fifty years ago, it might have caused him pain, but now? It was cute.

            And it was true. Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons. The journals – all three of them. Ford’s compulsive need to document any strange happenings, anomalies and phenomena. This was a need that Dipper shared. They were related by blood, after all.

            Ford grimaced. Fifty years ago. Blood relatives. Yikes.

 

_He’s kind._

            His shoulders slumped. If only.

 

_He’s a hero._

            Ford stopped reading. He sighed, pressing the paper face down on the desk in front of him. Then he caught himself, and carefully folded it. He made a mental note to replace it in the desk drawer from which he had ‘borrowed’ it. Not that it would matter, of course. Dipper had told him where to find it - of course he knew that it was gone. His nephew was nothing if not careful. 

            The lab was quiet, but already he could feel Dipper finishing his shower, rustling around the upstairs bedroom, wondering where Ford had gone. He’d figure it out soon enough. Then he’d come down here. They’d have the lab all to themselves, and they could-

            No. Ford massaged the corners of his eyes with the tips of his fingers, hand splayed wide across his face. He’d been as strong as he could. The kiss had lasted a long time – minutes? hours? – long enough to cross the border between “kissing” and “making out.” Ford made a face. How base that phrase sounded – “making out,” as if he had stolen something. As if sexual interaction were something to hide.

            But then, he thought, of _course_ he had something to hide. Even a kiss, something so small and human, was enough to get him prosecuted, sentenced, incarcerated. He couldn’t ruin his nephew. Not like this.

            The telltale scrape of vending machine on floor echoed down the stone staircase. 

            “Great Uncle Ford?” Dipper’s voice rang from upstairs, clear and full of trust. “Are you down here?”

            Ford steeled himself as he listened to the padding of small feet making their way downstairs. Dipper’s hair was wet and his skin glowed – he looked happy. Too happy, Ford thought, for someone whose parents had died mere days ago. Would it be wrong, he wondered, to take away that happiness? He’d have to let him down gently.

            “Dipper,” he greeted him with a nod.

            “Hey,” the boy replied breathlessly. “Sorry I took so long.”

            “It’s all right,” Ford reassured him. He faltered. “Dipper…”

            “Yeah.”

            “You know I care about you.”

            Dipper barked a laugh. “I sure hope so.”

            “And you know I’d never do anything to hurt you. Right?”

            “Where are you going with this?” Dipper asked. Straight to the point. Ford liked that.

            “What happened earlier… that kiss… that can never happen again. You know that, don’t you?” Ford appraised his nephew, damp-collared and barefoot on the cool cement floor. Dipper had the decency to look ashamed.

            “S-sorry… I just thought…”

            “While I appreciate your feelings toward me, I must stand by my moral code. It would be unethical for us to be together, at least romantically.”

            Dipper’s eyes glistened. Ford prayed he wouldn’t cry.

            “Ford-“

            “Do you understand why?”

            Dipper looked more shocked than sad. As if, by getting his way earlier, he had cemented their relationship, setting it in stone. As if he’d played his trump card, and it wouldn’t occur to Ford to rethink his position. That was the trouble with Ford – he was always rethinking his position. Dipper took a long pause, weighing his options before responding. He very much looked his age.

            “No, Ford, I don’t.”

            “Really?”

            “Well, obviously I understand the mechanics. Incest, age gap, your ‘moral code,’” he quoted, ticking bullet points off on his fingers. “But… not the emotion behind it. What’s wrong? Are you scared?”

            “Well, yes. To be perfectly frank. I am.”

            “Of what?”

            Ford’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times. Dipper’s jaw twitched, and his fingers couldn’t seem to stay still. But the boy held his ground, and Ford admired him all the more for it.

            “A lot of things. Stanley finding out. _Mabel_ finding out. What would your sister think?”

            “Does it matter?” Small fingers tentatively grasped his larger ones.

            “Of course it matters!” Ford extracted his hand from Dipper’s. He couldn’t afford the distraction. “My boy, I could be _arrested_ for what I did. Does the phrase ‘statutory rape’ mean anything to you?” It had been a long time since he’d lived in this dimension, but he was fairly certain that was still within the government’s jurisdiction. As he said them, the words became real, hanging forebodingly over the two of them.

            Dipper winced.

            “So… you didn’t… enjoy it?”

            Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. He sighed.

            “Of course I enjoyed it. That’s not what I meant. I just-“

            “If you enjoyed it, why is it bad?”

            “Because good things come at a cost!” he yelled, eyes darkening as his face contorted into something awful. He injected more venom into the words than he meant to, and he could tell he’d scared Dipper with his loud tone. That was something he’d regret. But it was good, maybe – a little fear could go a long way.

            “What… what happened to you, in the portal?” Dipper asked in a tiny voice.

            “What?”

            “What happened?” he repeated, grabbing hold. “Did someone hurt you?”

            Ford didn’t answer. His silence was answer enough. Dipper cautiously took Ford’s hand again. This time, Ford didn’t pull away.

            “I would never betray you,” Dipper said to the floor. “If that’s what you’re scared of.”

            Ford’s mouth felt dry. Christ, he hoped _he_ wasn’t going to be the one to cry.

            “I know, my boy.” His voice sounded strange to his own ears.

            “I trust you,” Dipper continued, more question than statement.

            “I…”

            Ford thought about the list in his pocket, thought about the twin items. _He saved my life. I saved his life._

            “Sometimes a good thing is just a good thing,” Dipper murmured, hooking a forefinger around Ford’s extra digit. “Do you trust me?”

            Ford closed his palm around the boy’s hand, shutting his eyes.

            “I trust you,” he whispered, terrified.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's warning: sexual/incestuous themes ahead.

 

* * *

 

            “Did you pull the vending machine cover closed behind you?” Ford whispered against Dipper’s mouth. His lips were chapped, rough-edged like the rest of him. He had removed his glasses.

            Holy hell, thought Dipper. This was it.

            “Um. Mm. Yeah,” he mumbled back, humming into Ford’s kiss. His heart hammered against his ribcage. Ford’s tongue darted between his lips. “Hmm.” 

            Ford reached behind himself without looking, pulling a sleek remote control from his back pocket and hitting a button. A soft whir echoed through the basement, followed by a clank. He tossed it lightly to one side.

            “Just locking up,” he explained without opening his eyes. His breath was hot against Dipper’s face, and his stubble scraped across the boy’s skin like sandpaper. He knelt to meet the boy’s height, and his arms locked at the base of Dipper’s spine.

            Dipper’s shorts suddenly felt very tight.

            “Uh,” he said. “Are you gonna, um, is this where we, y’know-“

            Ford pulled back a reluctant inch, his gaze deadly serious.

            “Do you want to?”

            “Yes, I, oh god-“

            Ford’s hands were on Dipper’s hips. His fingers left slow warm trails as he brought them forward onto Dipper’s stomach, down toward the hem of his shirt, toward the button of his shorts. His thumbs slipped under his belt line, nudging the elastic hem of his briefs. He couldn’t afford to stop, couldn’t afford to let himself think about what he was doing.

            “Ford! Ford, wait, I-“

            “Yes?” Ford rasped.

            Dipper squirmed.

            “Are you sure this,” Ford groaned, “is what you want, my boy?”

            “Yes! Yes, please-“

            “Because once I start, Mason, I- I won’t stop.”

            “Hah...” Dipper panted, moving his hips. “That’s fine, that’s... god, that’s hot. I just didn’t expect to... to go so quickly, that’s all...”

            Ford took a second to breathe. He remembered being thirteen, remembered how sensitive he’d been to touch. Dipper was surely overwhelmed. He nodded, recalculating.

            “I won’t be perturbed if you come first,” he said calmly.

            “God- Ford!” Dipper hid his red face behind his hands.

            Ford’s right hand slipped beneath the fabric of Dipper’s briefs, grasping the hot skin of his inner thigh. His left came up to stroke the boy’s sternum. Dipper throbbed with arousal, gasping at the sensation of his uncle’s hand being so impossibly _close_ , yet still not quite touching.

            “I’ll be gentle,” Ford promised in a whisper before capturing Dipper’s bottom lip once more with his teeth.

            With his left hand, Ford released the button of Dipper’s shorts. His right hand slid upward, palming the boy’s shaft in one smooth motion. His left hand snaked behind Dipper, grasping him at the tailbone and pulling him forward.

            “Hah!” Dipper moaned, knees nearly buckling at the sudden blossom of sensation. “I need- oh god- Ford please-“

            Ford kissed him gently, as promised, and drew the boy’s erection forward between his thumb and his palm. His other five digits curled around the shaft, giving another slow but firm tug.

            “Ford, that’s amazing, please-“

            Ford felt the fabric of his own pants tighten at the praise. He exhaled, the warm breath tickling Dipper’s upper lip. With ease of years of practiced stillness, he let his weight sink from his knees into the floor below him. His joints would give him hell later, but he didn’t mind. He concentrated on maximizing the boy’s pleasure. This was for Dipper – not him.

            His hand pumped slowly, tightening at the base of Dipper’s member and loosening slightly at the tip with every turn. He engaged every muscle in his forearm, controlling the glide. His thumb stroked the tip, smearing small pearls of precum down the stiff shaft.

            Dipper was practically mewling. His hands scrabbled at Ford’s chest, and Ford knew he was close; had been close from the very beginning, before he had even walked down those basement steps. Ford’s erection throbbed at the thought. He shifted his weight, feeling the friction of fabric against his own sensitive skin. How long had it been since he had felt this aroused? He had forgotten the feeling, that carnal need, of wanting someone so badly you needed their touch _right now-_

            Dipper’s list had been accurate. They worked together. They _fit_ together. His left hand caressed Dipper’s hip, sinking below his waistline, while his right continued to pump like a reliable old steam engine. Dipper moaned again, loudly. His hips thrust wildly into Ford’s hand, arrhythmic and fast. Ford felt the boy’s organ throb and spasm, spurts of hot liquid coating his hand. He panted, willing himself not to remove his hands from Dipper’s body. 

            Dipper came for a long time. He fell against his uncle’s chest, and Ford grasped his small body in one arm. His right hand remained buried in Dipper’s shorts for another long minute before he slowly, reluctantly, withdrew.

            Dipper was shaking. Ford panted. It was an effort to keep still. His erection pressed uncomfortably against his thigh. He shifted his weight again.

            “Are you okay?” he whispered in the boy’s ear.

            Dipper said nothing; merely nodded.

            “Are you sure?”

            “Are... are you kidding me? That was... that was amazing.” Dipper sucked the air in huge, thirsty gulps. His forehead never left Ford’s collarbone. Ford throbbed again at the praise. His hand was still remarkably wet. He wondered how it would feel to grasp himself with that hand. He opened and closed his fist a few times on Dipper’s back.

            “Ah,” he breathed involuntarily. “I’m... happy to hear it.”

            “Are you still, um. Still. Y’know?”

            Ford chuckled breathlessly.

            “Don’t worry about me, my boy.”

            Dipper raised his head, pointedly examining the bulge in Ford’s pants. He took a few more breaths, then grinned. Tenderly, with the clumsiness of someone who had never done it before, he grabbed Ford’s erection through the tented fabric of his pants. Ford inhaled.

            “I want to return the favor.”

            “Dipper-“

            “Say my name again. My real name,” he added.

            “Mason,” Ford groaned, tilting his head back.

            “I...” Dipper blushed. “I want you t-to come. In your pants.” He tried to sound confident. Ford might have even chuckled at that bizarre tone if he wasn’t so _damn_ horny. “Like me.”

            “Mason,” Ford breathed again.

            Dipper rubbed Ford through the coarse fabric. Ford’s hips bucked forward. God, what had it been? Ten years? Twenty?

            “Yeah, you... you like that?”

            “You don’t know what you’re doing to me, boy,” Ford hissed. Dipper’s small fingers squeezed. Ford’s hips bucked again. He groaned. It was too tight.

            Desperately, he reached down, undoing his belt and zipper. Dipper eagerly took the hint, shoving both hands into the space between Ford’s boxers and pants. The fabric stretched over the scientist’s waist and hips, unaccustomed to holding so much. Tiny gasps escaped Ford’s throat. Dipper wielded him with both hands like a sword through his boxers.

            “Mason-“

            Dipper squeezed.

            “Mason!” Ford crumpled, sitting back on his heels and bringing Dipper along with him. “God... boy...”

            Dipper looked worried.

            “Is this okay?” he asked.

            “Don’t stop,” Ford commanded shakily. He explained, “My knees aren’t what they used to be.”

            Dipper chuckled breathlessly. “Old man,” he prodded gently, finding his grip on Ford’s still-hard erection once more. Ford leaned back, thrusting his hips forward a few times to coax the boy into a rhythm. Dipper pulled the cloth over Ford’s member a few times, and Ford gritted his teeth.

            “Mason, I’m close,” he said, surprising himself at the honesty in his tone. “I- ah-“

            Dipper increased his momentum. Maybe he wasn’t as experienced as Ford, but he knew what he liked, what tricks he liked to use on himself, and he used that to inform his movements. Ford bucked and thrust into his hand.

            Dipper looked up at him. Beads of sweat trickled from the tips of Ford’s grey sideburns, glittering at his jawline like diamonds. His mouth was slack, open to one side. The collar of his turtleneck had sunk slightly, exposing the tip of a jagged scar beside his Adam’s apple. Dipper thought he looked beautiful. The teen redoubled his efforts. His movements became smaller, more precise. Quicker. Ford wheezed.

            “Oh, god. Oh, Mason, I’m- I’m- ahn... nh...”

            Ford’s entire body shuddered. He pulsed in Dipper’s hands, hot liquid soaking through his boxers, and, he was sure, his pants. Everything was wet. His hips pressed forward, savoring every pop and ache. He was sure he would never feel this good again.

            As he slowly came to his senses, he was glad he’d brought his coat down with him. He could hide his walk of shame back to the main floor. Dipper’s hands continued to rest lazily in the crotch of his pants. He risked a look down at the boy. His nephew was grinning goofily up at him.

            Ford grasped his wrists, removing them from his person. He cleared his throat, standing quickly without rebuttoning his pants. He lost his footing, stumbling after resting his weight on his knees for so long.

            “Ford!” Dipper exclaimed, jumping and placing both hands on Ford’s elbow to steady him. They were still wet, and a little sticky. Ford brushed him off.

            “I meant what I said about my knees,” he said breathlessly, and Dipper laughed.

            “It’s okay, old man” the boy said, elbowing him gently. Ford gave a lopsided smile.

            “You need to shower again,” he remarked, drawing a still-damp lock of Dipper’s hair through his forefinger and thumb. “Sorry.”

            “It’s okay,” Dipper repeated, chuckling.

            The boy was literally glowing. His eyes sparkled, glittering in the dim half-light of the basement lab. Ford grimaced. With a wince, he hobbled to one corner and opened a cabinet, withdrawing a pair of pants identical to the ones he wore. He turned his back, toed off his boots, kicked off his dirty pants and underwear, and stepped into the clean ones. He turned back to Dipper, completely unselfconscious.

            “Sorry, I don’t have anything in the lab that would fit-“

            “Ford,” Dipper breathed. His expression had frozen.

            “What is it?” Ford frowned. Surely, even at thirteen, the kid had witnessed the naked human form before. Hadn’t he?

            “All your scars... I didn’t realize...”

            Oh.

            Even at that distance, Ford knew the scars, which coated nearly every part of his body, were highly visible. He cleared his throat.

            “Right, I- I forget sometimes.” He silently cursed himself. “It’s been... a while, since I last made love to someone. My apologies.”

            A warmth flooded Dipper’s chest and stomach at the words. Made love. Ford was so old-fashioned. A troubled smile touched his lips.

            “Don’t apologize,” he said, crossing the room stiffly. “I just... didn’t realize-“

            “How disgusting I am?” Ford finished tersely. His glasses lay on his desk. A glare flickered across the lenses as he replaced them, pressing them against the bridge of his nose. Dipper flinched.

            “-how much you’ve been hurting,” Dipper finished, a little helplessly. “Stanford.”

            Ford swallowed. Dipper approached him, placing a hand on his forearm. Small fingers grasped the thick hem of a red sleeve.

            “Can I?” the boy asked.

            “You’re not... put off by them?”

            “How could I be?” Dipper looked hurt. “You’re perfect,” the boy mumbled, blushing.

            They’d have to have another talk about the ‘hero worship’ thing again sometime. He was far from perfect, and Dipper’s statement was far from healthy. But instead of saying anything, he simply nodded. His heart raced.

            This was the part where Dipper realized how disgusting he was. How old, and how broken. How used up. Involuntarily, he held his breath. Dipper gently pushed Ford’s sleeve up to the elbow, as if afraid to open old wounds. Ford laughed brokenly.

            “You won’t hurt me,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Don’t worry.”

            Dipper turned Ford’s hand over, front and back, over and over, examining the spiderweb of scars and gnarled flesh. His eyes glistened.

            “Ford,” he breathed.

            “It’s not pretty,” Ford acknowledged, staring uncomfortably at the ceiling.

            Dipper’s fingers traced each ridge and whorl. He took his time as he worked his way down. Ford shivered – it tickled. Occasionally Dipper would reach a patch of undamaged skin, and his thumb would linger, smoothing the hairs that were still able to grow. The scars were soft and smooth, crinkling like cellophane under the tips of his fingers, and the ratio of scar to skin was higher than he would have liked. Dipper took Ford’s hand in his own, wrapping two fingers around the polydactyl extra digit.

            “You’re such a mess,” Dipper breathed. It wasn’t an insult.

            A strangled laugh escaped Ford’s throat.

            “I don’t see how you could possibly find any of this attractive.”

            “Ford, look at me.”

            Ford looked. Dipper’s eyes were filled with pure, unfiltered love, just for him. There was no pity in that gaze. Ford inhaled shakily. This was dangerous.

            “Dipper-“

            “Can I stay with you again tonight?”

            “Stan is going to find out. We can’t keep doing this.”

            “So what if he does?”

            “We _can’t_ keep doing this.” Ford yanked his hand back, pushing his sleeve back down. “We should have never allowed ourselves to go this far. _I_ shouldn’t have allowed it.”

            “Ford-“

            “ _No,_ Dipper.”

            Dipper swallowed. The light had gone from his eyes. He took a couple of steps back.

            “Ah... all right, then. I’ll just...” He gestured to the staircase behind him with his thumb. He looked confused, and hurt. Ford squeezed his eyes shut, nodding.

            “I’m sorry.”

            Dipper didn’t respond. He sniffed, and Ford heard hasty footsteps rushing up the stairs. The vending machine door clanked open, then shut again. The lab was impossibly quiet. Ford shuddered. What had he done?

            What if Dipper told Stanley?

            With shaking hands, he gathered the pile of dirty laundry from the floor and deposited it in a closeted basket, shutting the door behind him. He’d deal with that later. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, realizing how tired he was. His fingers still smelled like Dipper. The water at the lab sink was always cold, but he held his hands under the stream for a long time, scrubbing until the webbing between his fingers was raw. The faucet squeaked as he turned the knob.

            When he turned, Stanley was behind him, arms crossed. Ford jumped – he hadn’t heard him enter the lab.

            “What did you do?” His twin brother’s voice was insistent, demanding. Stanley certainly knew how to be terrifying when he wanted to be. Ford was still shaking; he couldn’t stop shaking. Stan couldn’t possibly know, he told himself. There was no way. Unless Dipper had said something?

            “I- I’m-“

            “The kid came down here. Now he won’t stop crying. What happened?”

            Ford exhaled, relieved. Stan didn’t know.

            “Stanley, the boy’s parents just died.”

            “He’s not a crier. I haven’t seen him cry once since they died. Now he won’t stop sniveling. What did you say to him?”

            “How am I supposed to know how grief is going to affect someone?” Ford barked. Stan took a step back. Ford hadn’t meant to be so loud. “Sorry,” he amended, turning his hands palm-up in a gesture of peace. “It’s been a... stressful couple of days.”

            “Jesus Ford, what did you do to your hands?”

            Stan grasped his wrists, looking at the red skin worriedly. It had cracked in a few places, and blood welled in the lines between his fingers. They were still wet, and the color spread like spiderwebs. His fingertips were pruned and white. His nails must have dug into the water-soft skin of his own hands. How long had he been scrubbing?

            “Ah... I got... acid on them. Yes. Acid.”

            “Ford,” Stan chided. He grabbed the towel from the rack and began to dry his brother’s hands. He glanced at Ford’s face, meeting his eyes. He knew _something._ “You really gotta be more careful down here. What if Dipper had gotten hurt?”

            “He didn’t.”

            “But what if he did?”

            “I would _never_ hurt Dipper,” he said icily.

            Stan’s brow furrowed.

            “That’s not what I asked.” Stan’s eyes pierced him like twin lasers. “Are you sure you aren’t up to something?”

            “If I was I wouldn’t tell you.”

            Stan smiled halfheartedly. Even bickering was better than not having Ford back at all. He sighed and pressed the towel into Ford’s hand.

            “Just... be careful. I don’t like to see either of you hurt. Not after Shermie’s kids... well.”

            Ford swallowed guiltily as Stan ascended the staircase. He had to make sure his brother never found out what happened in his lab today. It felt slimy, but it was simple self-preservation. He couldn’t afford to lose Stanley. Not again.

            But Dipper...

            The truth was, Dipper reminded Ford of himself. In a sick way, Ford found himself noticing tendencies he’d had as a child, and correcting them in Dipper – or trying to. Worse, he _was_ attracted to him. It was impossible to deny at this stage. It was so comfortable, talking to Dipper. He was the only person with whom Ford really felt like himself. Not even Stanley could do that, and he’d known Stanley his whole life. Longer, even. But his brother had grown apart from him over thirty years, and they hadn’t shared a camaraderie since he had been a teen himself. Ford wrung the towel between his fingers. The scrapes between his fingers were not deep – just dry. Some lotion would do the trick.

            Oh god, Ford thought. Was he projecting a younger image of Stanley onto Dipper? His lip curled in distaste at the unwanted self-analysis. He opened the closet again, tossing the towel disgustedly on top of the pile of soiled clothes. How on earth could Stanley not have figured it out?

            Unless...

            Unless.

            Ford jumped with a jolt as an idea occurred to him. He raced to a computer, praying that his hunch was wrong. He clicked a few buttons, pulling up the home security system in a panic. Just as he feared, the lab cameras were all trained on his desk – the very same desk he had used to take advantage of his nephew.

            Stanley had gained access to his basement lab thirty years ago. Of course Stan knew how to hack into the CCTV – he couldn’t call himself a respectable con artist otherwise. Bile rose in Ford’s throat. Stan knew.

            Stan knew, and he had watched.

            And he hadn’t said a word.


End file.
